Missed Call

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‘Where would you like to go?’

He always asks, knowing I’ll have a preference.  I feel a pang of regret for what I’m about to lose.

‘There’s a place…’

I put my arm through his and we set off down the street.  This is what it would be like, I think, being with him.  Comfortable and easy.  Isn’t that enough?

A short while later we leave the café and retrace our steps.  We walk apart, our shoulders brushing at intervals.  I ask about his weekend plans.  He says to call if I miss him, which I do, often.  But I never call.

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